It's not a Fashion Statement, It's a Deathwish
by PhoenixTakaramono
Summary: Perhaps Klaus had truly never gotten over Ben's death. He'd seen it in the unconscious gestures, from the pillow he'd set out for Ben to the placemat and coffee next to his own on the breakfast table—just the littlest things Klaus did for him without even having to ask. It broke Ben's heart. (A two-shot for a friend, with nods to the show and bits from the graphic novels.)


(A/N)- I wouldn't exactly say this'll end up as a deep dive into worldbuilding and whatnot—unlike my other stories. While the surprises of the show have been spoiled for me à la YouTube's _Let Me Explain_, I've so far caught up to episode 6 and my current writing mojo is only going to last so long, ha. Please forgive me. But this is a small gift for the talented _**The Seance (MissingOneEye) **_on AO3, who'd introduced me to _the Umbrella Academy_ and he happens to like Ben/Klaus at this moment, ergo…. :) Surprise. Certainly do check his works out under his nine AO3 pseudonyms!

Here's your "sweet heart to heart with hardcore sexy times later." I attempted to at least cobble together a two-parter, ha.

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**It's not a Fashion Statement, It's a Deathwish**

Chapter 1

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Perhaps there had been only one person who'd truly understood the Séance.

00.04.

_Number Four._

All three monikers belonged to none other than Klaus Hargreeves, one of the seven surviving children born from the forty-three miraculous pregnancies.

The druggie. The addict. The fuck-up. The joke of the family. The crazy one. A walking gay disaster. And the only one that could commune with the dead like something out of _the Sixth Sense_. (Klaus actually liked that movie, cliché be damned. To him, it'd felt like a stranger had taken a peek into his mind, and had written both a character and a story that Klaus could relate to.)

He was all those—and more. Like everything else about him, it was something he'd learned to accept. After all, it was intrinsic of society to pass judgement onto others.

Even his own family wasn't free of it. Number One did it. Numbers Two and Five, most definitely. Numbers Three and Seven, bless their hearts; they'd at least tried to understand their adopted brother's _lifestyle choices_.

It was Mom, perhaps, that he could give a little leeway. As an android, her personality as a loving foster mother had been nigh perfect. Klaus had fond memories of Grace baking his favorite cookies for him, and the feeling of her synthetic skin cupping his cheek gently whenever she tended to his injuries after the more perilous missions. She'd been a saint.

But Dad..._Dad was Dad_. The Monocle, Sir Reginald Hargreeves. Daddy dearest, extraterrestrial—and the underlying reason why Klaus had grown up resenting his powers in the first place.

(Klaus still didn't quite know what to think about Dr. Phinneus Pogo, an advanced species of primate whom Klaus had remembered being in their lives ever since he and his other six "siblings" had been adopted, the chimpanzee's presence in their household explained to them to be that of a family friend and Dad's most trusted assistant. Even with the revelation that he'd lied to them, his death at Vanya's hands had been gruesome and soul-crushing.)

And Dave...kind, strong, brave and handsome David Katz from Vietnam who was still waiting for him in the afterlife.

Klaus loved his Jewish Prince Charming; he still did. A fragment would forever be missing from his heart that was Dave-shaped, but Klaus was a soldier who would one day learn to compartmentalize his grief and move on. _Dave would want him to learn that it was okay to find happiness again somewhere else, and not dwell in the past._

It was just too bad that Klaus was terrible at the concept of moving on.

Just as Klaus was internalizing his jumbled thoughts, he heard a quiet, "Penny for your thoughts?"

That voice had never failed to produce a reaction, outside of dire and extenuating circumstances.

Even now the warm fuzzies were doing somersaults in Klaus' stomach, even though his body was currently suffering through a bitch of a withdrawal. Sweat matted his hair to his face, and his eyeliner might be all runny and gross.

In the sanctuary of his old room, Klaus allowed himself to turn over, the springs of the mattress squeaking under him when watery eyes landed on the only other inhabitant in the room.

_Ben Hargreeves. Number Six. The Horror. Deceased._

As solid as the ghost of his brother appeared, even with the moonlight bathing the hooded figure with its blue sheen, Klaus knew that if he reached out, his fingers would dip through air.

Beneath the hoodie, those dark, slanted eyes were affixed on Klaus' face, running over his goatee and unkempt facial hair.

A grin split Klaus' face from ear to ear. "So stingy!" he warbled. "Benny, a penny seems awfully cheap—even for me! Learn to live a little. My attention has to be worth at least a grand!"

Ben couldn't help but roll his eyes. "What? No family discount?"

Klaus' grin somehow only seemed to broaden, nearly to painful contortions. It was familiar antics like these that he appreciated, if only because they were harmless and fun and not at all at his expense. The apparition gave as good as he got; Klaus could appreciate that. "Oh, shut up, Nancy."

In the end, Klaus decided to take pity on him. He waved his hand dismissively through the air, hoping that Ben didn't notice—for once—how it trembled. "Forget it. For you, brother mine, free of charge." He then muttered beneath his breath, "You couldn't even...pay me, if you'd wanted to."

Somehow even a whisper sounded loud in his ears. His fingers were restless. Jittery. He wanted to be deaf to the buzzing going on all around him. To those desolate shouts and incessant mutters that plagued him even in his waking moments.

He'd just begun to move his hands to cover his ears, when he heard Ben speak up once more:

Ben's voice had been low. "...You're shaking."

"Quite the brilliant deduction there, Captain Obvious," he snapped. Then he winced, realizing he was doing it again. _Pushing people away_. Curling into a fetal position, he muttered churlishly, "Sorry. Didn't mean that."

He didn't dare look in Ben's way.

"It's already peaked, hasn't it?"

Klaus didn't so much hear than feel the bed dipping under him—or perhaps that had been a figment of his imagination. It wouldn't have been the first time.

He might no longer be as high as a kite, but the neurons and synapses in his brain were still going haywire.

Klaus hated being sober.

"...I'm proud of you, Klaus."

His heart was pounding like a snare drum. "Beeeeeen," he whined, his tone nearly petulant.

He could feel the cold breeze sifting through his hair. And, for a moment, Klaus wished desperately that it were solid fingers combing through the thick curls. He wished to feel another's body heat seeping through his skin, grounding him to reality.

"You're almost there, man," Ben spoke. "I know it must be an ordeal, going clean. You're braver than the rest of us."

_"No."_ His shirt had ridden up when he twisted over to crane his neck, his midriff exposed as he glared balefully up at the ghost. He knew he must seem quite the sight, with bloodshot eyes and clammy perspiring skin. At least the threat of projectile vomit seemed minuscule now.

His gaze downcast, Ben's sharp, angular features—in his habitual expression of iron resolution and brooding—seemed to have gentled.

His breath froze in his throat. In that deep expression, Klaus could read more than he dared to hope. Gratitude. Pride. Sympathy. Tenderness. In that naked gaze, he could feel himself melt like putty. _It was unfair._

"Why're you looking at me like that?" Klaus heard himself demand, as though he was hearing his own voice from a distance. False bravado was plastered over his face as he forced himself to roll onto his elbows, his arms trembling under him as he struggled to push himself upright.

Pathetic; he used to be able to do plenty of push-ups in their drills at Vietnam.

Mindless words spilled forth: "See something you like? Entranced by my good looks? Admiring my mustache? What—?"

"I'm sorry about Dave."

All the air was punched out of him. And Klaus let himself topple face-first, his forehead bouncing several times against the springy mattress.

"...Klaus?"

"Why?" His voice was muffled against the pillow. "It's not your fault."

_"Klaus."_

His eyes squeezed shut. Admitting it aloud felt like stone piercing his heart, but he confessed, "It might not have lasted anyway."

David Katz had been normal. Mundane. And Klaus—he'd liked the normalcy. He'd liked the concept that a beautiful man like Dave would lay eyes on him and had managed to find something in Klaus that he himself had liked.

For one year, Klaus the Séance had been able to experience normalcy—the life he always thought he'd wanted. _He'd actually connected with someone on a deep emotional level—something he'd thought once to be ridiculous and impossible—_who'd thought him to be genuinely funny and deserving of a significant other. Someone who allowed themself to be vulnerable around him.

While Klaus would never muster up enough charity in him to give thanks to the two temporal assassins who'd tortured him, it was technically because of them that he had been able to truly experience what it felt like to be human.

"You miss him."

_Babe..._ Klaus swallowed before shaking his head. He murmured, "Better to have loved and...lost, than never to have loved at all. I've...made my peace. And I wouldn't have traded it for the world."

At least, this way, he had been able to give another man ten months of happiness. At least, this way, Klaus wouldn't have to see his fears realized—for the day Dave would have eventually realized the secret that Klaus Hargreeves would've tried to keep from him. Poor, sweet Dave had loved Klaus the soldier; he might not have loved Number Four.

"...Ben," he breathed, coming to an epiphany. Klaus lifted his head, eyes bright and glimmering. "Listen. You weren't there. But it's always been you, Ben. Just you and me, Ben and Klaus. Meant to be."

Luther had Allison. Diego had Mom—or he'd used to; he was seen frequenting the company of Vanya nowadays, the irony of that aside. And Five...had himself, and the store mannequin that he'd loved for thirty-some years amidst the apocalypse.

Through the blood pounding in his ears, he repeated, "Only you, Ben."

A knot had begun to form between Ben's brows, an unsureness beginning to slip into his features from the intensity directed his wake. "I'm not sure wh—"

A scoff cut him off. Klaus declared, "You're the parasite to my anglerfish."

"...Bro, you've lost me."

Klaus groaned loudly, resisting the urge to flail his arms. He didn't have the energy to. He'd raised his voice instead, lamenting, "You're not seeing the big picture!"

"_Then elaborate_. Why am I being compared to a parasite? That shit's hurtful, man."

"Benny, Benjamen, buddy, ol' boy. You're smart. You're Asian. You've seen nature documentaries—or at least read about them."

"Wow. First of all, rude. Secondly, that's kinda racist. Thirdly…." His frown ebbed a little. "I might be dead, but I can't read your mind. Are you saying—?"

"_I'm saying_ we're inseparable. We're a team, Ben. The dynamic duo." Every single nerve in his body was blazing like fire. His fingers longed to tap-dance. Even his eyeballs burned. When Ben's expression remained nonplussed, Klaus heaved a sigh. "Fiddlesticks. Alright, let's bite the bullet. C'mon over here."

Ben's shoulders immediately tensed.

"Ben."

This time it was his brother who had to swallow the stone lodged in his throat. The pallor of his face was ashen. "Klaus, you're asking me to... I don't want to be—"

"You won't be disappointed. Trust me. I want—" His voice cracked, and he had to clear his throat. Swallowing his pride, Klaus begged, "I-I just want to try again. Please. That time was a fluke, I swear. It won't be like last time, or the times before it. ...You promised me, Ben. You promised me you'd let me try."

Ben closed his eyes. "I did."

"And you're not a liar. No take-backsies."

"Yes," he said softly, "I know. You don't have to keep telling me." He exhaled noisily, lashes fluttering open as he dropped his line of sight.

"I practiced for you. After the JFK incident. Cross my heart and hope to die, stick a needle in my eye." If he sounded a bit desperate, Klaus cared little for it. His face was dripping sweat. "I can do it. _It's your turn to trust me._"

After Vanya had become White Violin and nearly brought about the end of times, in their time travel back to prevent their sister from being preyed upon by Harold Jenkins in his Leonard Peabody alias, Klaus had discovered a tremendous surge of his abilities. He'd discovered not only had he been a spirit medium, he could perform—admittedly limited—telekinesis, and perhaps even possess any living individual that he wanted.

The biggest surprise that came to him had been the ease wielding Ben's power. _We can combine our powers together_, he remembered telling him. Using his own body as a conduit to channel a spirit, however draining it could be on the energy reserves, he could summon the dead and give them physical presence.

_In those moments, he could make others see Ben._

"C'mon, stop being so chicken," Klaus wheedled. His pointer finger was thrust up in his direction. "Y'know what your problem is? I think you just need a boost of confidence. You were the Horror, Benny. Your body summons eldritch monsters! You've unleashed them plenty of times on our enemies. Don't tell me you're more scared of the unknown than...than Cthulhu!"

He realized he was rambling, but he could vividly recall the first time Ben's fist had connected against the side of his face, the force of the impact dislodging the pills that'd been inside his mouth. No ghost had been able to even touch him before, not even dear dead Ben.

It hadn't been much later, once Klaus had been given time to think, that he grasped what might've happened. He'd desperately wanted someone to stop him.

_And that someone had been his brother._

Ben was taking in his whitened knuckles, his fists slowly blooming open like lotus flowers. He muttered, "Yeah, you're right."

"Well…." Klaus preened, tipping his head upward. Moisture was flung everywhere. "I'm always right."

A mixture of a scoff and helpless snort of laughter escaped Ben. "And incorrigible."

"And your favorite sibling," Klaus added.

"I dunno; I've been on the Rumor and Five train lately." His teeth gleamed white when he was met with an affronted expression. "Relax, you can still keep that trophy. For what it's worth, you were the only one weird enough to think the tentacles are cool…. You probably still do, don't you? ..._Jesus, Klaus_. You've seen them rend people apart. You remember the bank?"

"That's different!" he insisted. "They were nameless grunts. _I'm me._ They like me!"

"That's what you've been telling me all these years. And I'm still not convinced."

"Well, maybe today's the lucky day." Planting his forearms on the mattress, he pulled himself closer to Ben, stopping just shy of touching. He mustered up a rakish smirk in response to the hesitant curl of the lips directed down at him. "And I can prove it to you. You can't hurt me."

His fingers unfurled, his palm open and waiting for the spirit to take it.

The ghost's gaze slithered down to it, staring at the offering for what must have felt like an eternity. His expression was as stoic and unreadable as the tall bronze statue that stood outside once more in the Umbrella Academy courtyard, his likeliness preserved and frozen in time.

Eventually, the veneer cracked, and Ben could be heard murmuring, "...Why's your face so pale?"

"Shut up and hold my hand before I hurl."

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(A/N)- Do let me know what you fellas think!

Next chapter: _The Good Samaritan_. AKA the requested "throw in a scene where they're kissing and Ben shoves Klaus back against the wall as they try to get clothes off." ...Plus, some other things probably that'll build up to it (because I feel like it's too short otherwise, and I realize an opportunity exists here for us to explore a little of the potential of their relationship). Rating will change to M. For the full MA version, please see the version on AO3 when it's published.


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